


Plums

by seapotato



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Autumn, Caretaking, Cozy, Good night, M/M, Merlin's Magic Loves Arthur, No Spoilers, Sweet Dreams, Tenderness, it's about the yearning, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27581671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seapotato/pseuds/seapotato
Summary: There was a frustrating and somewhat disturbing eagerness his magic had—increasingly often—to not only protect and fight for Arthur, but to please him. To spoil him, Merlin thought, glaring at the plum in his hand.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 256





	Plums

There was a frustrating and somewhat disturbing eagerness his magic had—increasingly often—to not only protect and fight for Arthur, but to please him. To _spoil him,_ Merlin thought, glaring at the plum in his hand.

Arthur had been poking listlessly at his supper as Merlin went about straightening the room. Before Merlin even really knew what was happening, he felt a weight in his pocket. He pulled out a perfectly firm plum, glossy and orange-yellow-red, like a sunset, right as Arthur looked over at him. Arthur had been moody all day. Merlin wasn't really sure why except that sometimes he got like that: far-off, weary over something that Merlin wasn't part of. Turned inward. But when he saw the plum in Merlin's hands his eyes lit up and his mouth opened a little in surprise, unselfconscious and sweet.

“I was just thinking about plums. My father once told me—” he stopped and Merlin held himself perfectly still, the plum catching the firelight. Arthur stood from the table and walked over to where Merlin had been shuffling some of Arthur's papers and books around. His expression had gone back to moody. He huffed a bit as he took the plum from Merlin's hand. “Don't squeeze it like that, you'll bruise it,” he admonished and still Merlin said nothing, didn't even let his hand drop, just let Arthur stand there holding the plum and looking into the rich glow of it. “My father once told me that my mother loved plums. He said she always craved them during summer rainstorms.” It was pouring rain outside and Merlin's stomach fluttered with some mixture of helplessness and longing.

Arthur didn't look at him when he asked, “Where'd you get one this time of year?” It was well into autumn, nearly winter, and Merlin had no idea where the plum had come from. It was probably safe to eat, right? His magic wouldn't give anything that could hurt Arthur, not like this.

“It's for you,” he blurted and immediately felt his ears warm. Arthur did look up at him then, with an eyebrow raised like, _obviously, yes_. “There was, um, a late batch. The last.”

Arthur hummed a distracted acknowledgement and went over to the fire as he rolled the plum lightly in his palm. Merlin went to the table and started clearing off the dishes, barely touched. He watched as Arthur pressed the plum against his mouth, not biting into it quite yet, resting it there. His eyes were half-lidded as he stared into the fire. _He looks like a painting_ , Merlin thought. _He looks like a painting I want to make_. Then Arthur's lips parted and he ate the plum carefully, quickly, not letting a drop of juice spill.

He tossed the plum stone into the fire and said, “I'm going to bed.”

Usually Arthur was talkative during their nightly routine as Merlin got him into his sleeping shift, tidied a bit for the morning, banked the fire, turned the bed down—talkative and sarcastic, complaining about boring lessons with Goffrey, listing off all the drills he was going to have the knights practice if they'd been sloppy that day, laughing at Merlin's own complaints about banquets and visiting lords, giving his unsolicited opinion on texts he'd caught Merlin reading when he was supposed to be doing chores. If Arthur was tired he listened more than he talked. Tonight he was...Merlin didn't know quite how to put it. He was withdrawn. Misaligned, somehow, heavy and unreachable.

When Arthur was climbing into bed and Merlin was putting out the lamps he asked, “Is Hunith well?”

Merlin paused before he put out the last lamp. “She is. Got a letter from her last week, the harvest came in nicely,” Merlin paused, frowning a bit as he brought a candle over to Arthur's bedside. “Probably working too hard, though she sounded happy enough. Misses us, she said. Well, misses Gwen, actually, is what she said, not even me!” he was smiling now, thinking of his mother's steady hand when writing, how she had gently but firmly grasped his own when he was small to teach him a skill few in Ealdor had. His mother was so proud and he loved her for it.

Arthur stared up at the canopy of his bed, looking a million miles away. “Good. You should go see her before the weather turns and the snow sets in.”

Merlin left the candle on the table next to the bed and walked around to start letting the curtains down; only the silk, which allowed some of the low firelight dance through. The light cast Arthur's hair in flickering shadows. “Mmn,” Merlin hummed, trying to sound causal, “You're right, we should go after the counsel meeting next week. Your schedule's clear enough for a week's trip. The borders have been quiet, I'm sure your father would approve of riding out to make sure everything is as it seems.”

Arthur sighed then turned onto his side as Merlin came back to stand next to the head of the bed. Arthur was facing him, one hand tucked under the pillow, and in the soft light his eyes were dark, pupils wide, a bit sad, but focused, finally, here with Merlin at last. He looked somewhere around Merlin's neck, not quite at his face, as Merlin fought the urge to sweep a hand over his forehead, brush his hair back. And then, suddenly, as Merlin was imagining what might happen if he smoothed a thumb between Arthur's brows, Arthur's eyes lifted and caught his gaze and Merlin was positive he had on the most foolish, loveworn expression.

The corner of Arthur's mouth tilted up into the hint of a smile, a real one, and he said, “Alright. I'll talk to him in the morning. Send a letter to Hunith to make sure. Use my seal, it'll get to her faster. And you'll have to draw up a list of supplies, not for us, for her. Whatever she might need. She'll probably be excited from the harvest and you'll say some nonsense like it's not a problem, but I'll be damned if we leave there having taken more from her than we brought. Once you're done with the list show it to Gwen, she'll have a better sense than you of—”

“Okay, okay!” Merlin laughed, holding his hands up, “Whatever you say, sire.” Normally he'd roll his eyes but this time he dropped his hands and they looked at each other for a bit, losing track of the moment. A draft from the fireplace rippled the curtains and Arthur yawned, breaking away to roll with his back to Merlin. Merlin could see his legs stretch out under the blankets, his feet churning for a moment before going still.

“Do you want the candle tonight?” he asked.

“Leave it,” Arthur said sleepily, then, “No—you can blow it out.”

Merlin did so and in the dark of the room he reached a hand out to gently cup the back of Arthur's neck, his palm pressed to the strong cord of muscle, his fingers barely tracing the wisps of Arthur's hair where it curled. He felt Arthur tense for a moment and then he felt him lean back into it, slightly, just enough pressure for Merlin to know it was on purpose. He was so warm.

“Your hand is cold,” Arthur complained into his pillow, not pulling away.

Merlin laughed quietly and let his thumb sweep up and drag down once, firmly, then drew his hand away. “Good night, Arthur.”

“G'night, Merlin.”

Merlin left quietly, casting a charm on the fire so it would burn evenly and long, and another spell on the window to muffle the rain hitting the glass so that Arthur might sleep more easily. As he picked up the dishes he thought of the plum and his ridiculous magic. It was his own magic certainly, but there was no doubt it also belonged to Arthur.

**Author's Note:**

> I think about the fact that it's Merlin's job to tuck Arthur in every night a normal amount.


End file.
